All Boundaries are Limitless
by Twili-Magician
Summary: Left alone, he's forced to feel such petty human emotions. Anger! Guilt!... and even sadness. Ghirahim, in an attempt to be seen as the cold, dark mastermind behind their misfortune, now finds out just how cold the world really is...
1. Prologue to Revenge

"How dare you leave me this way..."

Ghirahim's vocals echoed throughout the room, each word seeming to have a drop of venom hanging at the end. His brown eyes moved up to the painted ceiling, his feet finally stopping for a spell while his irises seemed to glide over the ancient Hylian texts. They each stated the same particle of his failure though; there were no other paths to the Past, nor the Future. The Gates of Time could not bring back his master now... and now, here he was, stuck in an never-ending spiral of..._feeling_.

Slowly, the sword-spirit brought his black-tipped fingers up to his eyes, curling and squeezing them into his palms in anger, his upper lip beginning to curl back into a sneer. His chest was pulsating, and a sea of vomit seemed to be threatening to surge out of his throat, leaving him parched and rather disagreeable. With an angry growl, Ghirahim fell back into the chair behind him, the tip of his elbow stinging in pain as it came into contact with the arm. How dare he... how dare he leave him here on his own- after all his _hard work..._damn his Master!

"Leaving me here...expecting me to just carry-on and bring him back a second time..." He hissed, resting his cheek rather begrudgingly against his right hand, his weight shifting as well. So many people seemed to expect him to always hold it together- to lead the way and be the shining beacon of hope for gaining control of the surface. So many humans looked at him as if he were disgusting though...as if _he_ were the bad guy! Hadn't they ever wanted to be needed? To be wanted? To feel that safe sense of security, knowing you were fulfilling some preordained destiny...?

"Haven't they ever been loved?"

Ghirahim pushed the thought away from his mind, slowly standing up to his full height once more. Such sweet dreams he had...dripping with a cobra's venom, staining the beautifully red blood of that retched boy...So many wonderful things he had going through his mind when he lay his head down to rest; flashes of red, gold and violet that seemed to swirl around his brain an alarming rate. But they also brought messages...words that taught him about the past- and the future; about what once was and what will be. That someone will always want to abuse and use you for all you are worth, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Just like his master...always expecting him to be there to pull him back out of the hole he'd dug himself into- quite literally. It wore him out, causing his spine to heave in pain from such heavy labor and the toll it took on his mind. How could one man do it all? That was what he wondered himself, always questioning his master's methods...and his own ability.

He was not the strongest individual; this he knew. No amount of prayer would change that fact, either. Making his way to the end of the room, Ghirahim's eyes moved to the loftwing perched curiously at the top of the door- a gold painted statue. Raising his upper lip, his bared his fangs at the statue, pressing his body into the door for a moment before vanishing, his body bursting into a fit of diamond-shaped particles.

Within moments he reappeared on the other side of the door, several pig-faced goblins looking up in surprise. Some of them ran for cover upon seeing his foul mood, others stayed seated, waiting for an explosion.

However, Ghirahim stayed silent, taking long, slow strides to get to the dais in the center of the room. As soon as his soles touched the stone platform, he turned to face the Bokoblins, a simple smile on his face, his arms raised in greeting. An odd silence filled the room for several moments, and an eerie stillness seemed to fall over the sword-spirit's eyes.

"As you all know, there has been a rather nasty setback in my plans..." He murmured, his pastey-white lips curving upward into a wider, more manic-looking smile. Slowly, his arms fell to his side with a slight swing, like steel pendulums. "The Demon King has once again been placed out of my reach, and I am left alone to pick up the pieces of that _insolent_ little brat." His face began to contort a bit, a sneer appearing on his features, "...and I'm sure you all know how that makes me feel..."

It was suddenly quiet, only the simple sound of his breathing moving through the air. Several terrified Bokoblins stared back in horror, their eyes wide in anticipation for the tantrum they knew was only moments away. It wasn't often that their master had these tantrums...but one thing was always certain when he did; one of them was going to die.

"_Outraged!_" The room suddenly felt red hot as sweat began to pour down the beast's faces, their master bursting into a fit of diamonds with each word he spat out. "_Furious! __**Sick with anger!**_" He lashed his left arm out quickly, two spasming diamonds shooting out from the tips of his fingers. They made their permanent home in the breast of a female Bokoblin, who now lay splayed out across the ground in a position that could only reflect the agony of electrocution.

Ghirahim stood, trembling before his horde, a look of pure fury scattered over his pale features. He stayed hunched over, his fingers pressing unforgivenly into his cheekbones. Slowly though, his breathing seemed to even out from its previous wheezing, and he stood up straight, a rather calm look replacing the rage that had been there just moments ago. "...Well now, that wasn't very gentleman-like of me, now was it?" He asked, stepping forward and over the dead she-Bokoblin.

"I want all of you to get this into your thick skulls...so listen closely." Ghirahim suddenly spun around on his heel, his eyes scrutinizing every last inch of the little gremlins. "You all answer to me now...as we all know it, The Demon King can be presumed _dead..._a rather unfortunate presumption, but its the only one we have, now isn't it?" He asked, leaning down a bit to stare them in the eyes as he passed them by.

"Now, Now...I'm sure that each of you are thinking the same pea-brained little remark... 'what about your undying, relentless loyalty?" He lifted his face to the ceiling, his mouth curving into a pleasant smile. "Well...even loyalty has its boundaries, ladies and gentlemen."

He paused though, and turned to look at them with a sly look in his eye, "However, there is still the matter of that sky-child...yes...his punishment would need to be..hm..._ghastly_." He chuckled suddenly, sending a chill down the spines of his horde. "And you all, being the kind and generous family that you are, will no doubt _help_ me achieve this _fabulous_ dream of mine, correct? Lest of course you would rather stand up and tell me otherwise..." Again, there was silence.

"Now, I'm sure you're all wondering just what my fabulous and incomparable dream is...aren't you?" He spun around, his hair whipping against the sides of his face as he took a bow, his arms extended, "Well then, I'll tell you!" He laughed, his fangs gleaming from a sudden burst within the lit flames of the room.

Tossing his head back, Ghirahim's arms wrapped lovingly around his torso, "I want to see that Sky-child's head scewered upon an iron pike, his blood dripping down onto the _sacred_ ground of that wretched Goddess!" He spat, a snake-like hiss emitting itself from deep within his lungs. "I want to watch his beloved Spirit Maiden writhing on the ground in agony as I _personally_ defile her every being! I want to watch the light leave his eyes!"

Ghirahim took a gasping breath, his fingers clenched into fists as he brought them, shakingly, down to his sides. His breath was hoarse, his eyes radiating a dull white glow, the pale-white skin beginning to crack a bit, revealing the shiny black steel beneath. "And just how will any of these wishes come true?" He whispered, his eyes moving among the now terrified faces of his trusted horde. How on earth would he ever be able to pull off such a fantastic feat? "..._The Companion of the Sky Child_" His words were dripping with poison, a tone that could only be associated with pure, unsatisfied hatred. "After all...her and I are not so different you see...we were birthed the same way...and eventually we both shall _die_ the same way..." He murmured, moving back up to the now rotating stone dais in the center of the room. "And...likewise..." He began, crouching down to stare at the triangular emblem in the center of the platform.

"Even loyalty has its boundaries."


	2. March of The Damned

_So that sky-child_ _thinks he's seen the last of me, does he? _

_Well...he's going to get the surprise of his life!_

Ghirahim's eyes remained still, the whites of his eyes seeming to glisten with anticipation as the pendulum swung back and forth, never missing a beat. The soft _tick_ing of the clock's fingers only seemed to make his lips spread wider, his beastly tongue darting out to slide across them every few minutes.

One of the demon lord's hands allowed itself to be used as a prop, his chin resting carelessly against the smooth, black palm. He had no need to look so formal in his own home after all...though this was to say he did not still specify the very limits of perfection.

He began to weave his fingers between the delicate strands of silver hair, the digits deftly weaving a shield against the cold on his skin. The clock pronounced a low gong, causing his lips to tick slightly, lifting up in a most gruesome manner. Then, the cycle started again.

Tick.

Tongue.

Time.

Another low gong sounded out from the grandfather clock, its smooth, sleek glass only concealing the grating noise of the swinging pendulum. The very noise made the demon lord's teeth begin to grind together...but he would not lose his cool. He would withstand it for this very task...

_Brannng!_

That slow tick of his lips turned quickly into an all-out grin, his fangs gleaming in the dim-light of the candlelit room.

_Finally_, it was time to strike. It was the night of the orange-lit moon, shining down so lovingly on the settlement of those disgusting _humans_. A festival they called it, and the harvest festival at that. He'd watched them before, celebrating over something as menial as natural vegetation...how primal.

Standing from his seat, the sword-spirit moved slowly toward the still-ticking grandfather clock in the middle of his room. It had displayed the very same qualities of that which he hated...it was here, in his way to the door- his ultimate destination at the moment... it was grating, it annoyed him to no end while still providing some use of entertainment...and lastly...it just..._kept...going_!

Within the blink of an eye, Ghirahim's black, steel-like fingers had crashed through the shattering glass, wrapping around the gold-painted pendulum with a lust for blood that could only be possessed by a devil.

His arm jerked toward his body, yanking out the tool which it used to keep its very life supported...its very heart. Bringing the pendulum to his lips, the demon lord parted them-just a crack- and his long, snake-like tongue slid almost lustfully over the brass object.

"That's right...I'm _coming_ for you Sky-child..." He breathed, his grip on the brass object tightening to to release his frustration. "...and when I find you...hmhmhm..." He looked up toward the cavernous ceiling above him, his eyes fixating on a narrow stalactite.

Finally, the demon lord dropped the broken and mistreated clock heart, now dented and misshapen beyond repair. He stepped over it carelessly, the palm of his hand pushing the clock's remains out over the stone floor, spilling out the rest of its fragile innards.

"My dear ladies and gentlemen..." His voice was low as he entered the main room of his home, his 'summer home' he called it, though it didn't seem to get even a chuckle out of the little gremlins. "...I believe you all have been waiting for some time to hear just when we will be striking Faron..." He whispered, his chocolate-brown eyes scaling over the little pig-monsters.

His minions stood at attention, their eyes glowing with intensity...they too hated the sky-children. Many of their friends and family had been lodged on the end of the green-one's sword. Right now...they would follow Ghirahim to the ends of the earth if it meant that even just one of them could land a scratch on such an evil, maleficent child.

"The time has come...the festival is nearly at its peak..." Ghirahim bent over, his eyes glaring into each and every one of their minds. "...and so...the time to strike..." He snapped back up suddenly, throwing his black-encrusted arms into the air, "Is now!"

The demon sword was grinning from ear to ear, several wisps of his silvery hair flying in and out of view. "When we set foot on their soil we will burn, pillage and _murder_ every last one of them that comes into view!"

Ghirahim's face changed drastically then, and he lowered his arms to cross upon his chest, "...It is true...many of you will be lost to their weaponry...but know that it will not be in vain..." He turned toward the cavern opening, staring out into the darkness of the night. "For when the moon reaches its peak, it shall be staring down at a bloodstained land...when the moon reaches its peak...the Sky-Child will be _mine!_"

An uproar of cheering and war-cries suddenly lifted from the crowd of bokoblin, some of them tossing their weapons and very clothing up into the air, only adding to the demon lord's confidence. He nodded to their vigor, raising his head in pride.

"And so my children...we shall be off..." With one last remark, he snapped his fingers, a brilliantly crafted rapier fitting perfectly into his palm. It was glistening with the same intensity that his eyes seemed to possess; burning with the intensity of a thousand fires, all for the sake of revenge.

As his troops marched forward, he could only grin with delight, watching as they made their way out onto what would become a bloody battlefield...all for the sake of their common goal...

As the sword spirit began his march forward, his ears could pick up what he could only believe to be an illusion. A horrid sound, making itself known through the echoes provided by the cavernous home itself. Surely...it couldn't be.

Shaking his silver-woven head, Lord Ghirahim made his way toward the opening of the cave, a smirk plastering itself all over his features. If there was one thing his face would read...it was confidence...

But still...he couldn't help but wonder...

…_._

_Tick..._

…_...Tick..._

…_..._

_**(A/N) This is an extremely short chapter guys, I'm really sorry its taken so long for so little! I've been up to my brains in things to do- including moving out of state, which I can thankfully say is done now. Hopefully I won't lose any of my readers for this short chapter, but I'm also quite glad with how it came out. **_

_**The next chapter will be much, much longer. I **_**promise**_**, okay? **_

_**R&R**_


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